In the forest there is neither herd nor shepherd
When winter walks, it follows its distinct course as does spring
Men were born slaves to the one who repudiates submission
If he ever gets up, he shows them the way, they will walk with him
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the pasture of minds
And the lament of the flute lasts longer than flock and shepherd

In the forest there is no ignorant or wise
When the branches shake, nobody reveres
Human knowledge is illusory like the fog of the fields
that vanishes when the sun rises on the horizon
Give me the flute and sing!
The singing is the best to know,
and the lament of the flute survives the twinkling of the stars

In the forest there is only memory of the loving ones
Those who took over the world and oppressed and conquered,
their names are like letters from the names of criminals
A conqueror among us is one who knows how to love
Give me the flute and sing!
And forget the injustice of the oppressor
For the lily is a bowl for dew and not for blood

In the forest there is no critic or sensor
If gazelles are disturbed when they see companion,
the eagle does not say: 'How strange' Wise among us is he who judges
strange only what is strange Ah, give me the flute and sing!
The singing is the best madness and the lament of the flute survives the thoughtful and the rational

In the forest there are no free men or slaves
All glories are as empty as bubbles in water
When the almond tree throws its flowers on the hawthorn,
does not say: 'He is despicable and I am a great lord'
Give me the flute and sing!
That singing is authentic glory and the lament of the flute survives the noble and the vile

In the forest there is no strength or fragility
When the roaring lion does not say, 'He is fearful'
The human will is just a shadow that wanders in space
of thought and the rights of men fade like autumn leaves
Give me the flute and sing!
Singing is the strength of the spirit and the lament of the flute survives the extinguishment of the suns

In the forest there is no death or trouble
Joy doesn't die when spring is gone
The dread of death is a chimera that insinuates itself in the heart
For whoever lives a spring is as if they had lived centuries
Give me the flute and sing!
The song is the secret of eternal life and the lament of the flute will remain after the existence ends.

Kalil Gibran

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